


Burrow Awhile

by lotesse



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Friendship, Gen, Nightmares, Post - Goblet of Fire, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2004-01-25
Updated: 2004-01-25
Packaged: 2017-12-26 08:56:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,941
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/964034
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lotesse/pseuds/lotesse
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Silences pooled about Harry like the freezing water. Like the Hogwarts lake in February. But if Harry would swim through that for him, then he’d figure out a way to help. He would. Not canon-compliant with anything after GoF.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burrow Awhile

A crash interrupted the quiet that always fell over the Burrow in the late afternoon. Ron jumped, twisting away from the fireplace so quickly he could feel the whiplash in his spine. A few joints popped. No, it was just the twins again. He had to relax. He’d been jumping out of his skin way too often this holiday. Still, he was the best friend of the Boy Who Lived, and Voldemort had just rise again. 

It was really weird, thinking about Harry like that, with capital letters and everything. Harry was his friend, a boy only slightly younger than himself, who couldn’t brew Potions to save his life and simply hated Divination. He bloody well hated it when people spoke of Harry as if he was some sort of superhero. It always made him feel like an intruder, like a stranger. He didn’t know any superheroes. Well, maybe Dumbledore.

But no one else seemed to think the same way he did. Honestly, Harry’d have to be a superhero to survive a summer at the Dursley’s after witnessing the rebirth of You-Know-Who. At least, that was what his mother had said to the Headmaster. Realizing that trying to make Molly Weasley back down on anything was an exercise in futility, Dumbledore had opened the wards on Privet Drive to allow Harry safe passage to the Weasley fireplace.

Which was why Ron was waiting next to it now. Harry was supposed to’ve arrived five minutes ago. What was going on? Was he in trouble? Death Eaters, or those ruddy Muggles he lived with, or…? His worries were cut short by the flare of green flames that rushed up out of the fire burning merrily in the grate. Harry, thank Merlin. 

Ron reached out as Harry tumbled from the fireplace, grabbing him just in time to keep him from tumbling spread-eagled on the threadbare hearthrug. “Harry!” he exclaimed, standing his friend back on his feet. He was oddly reluctant to let go. It was sort of comforting to have a solid grip on Harry; to know that for the moment at least he was safe from his enemies. His hand tingled with cold when he pulled away. 

“Hello Ron,” said Harry tiredly, his voice far too quiet for Ron’s liking.

“Are you…all right? The Dursleys weren’t too dreadful, were they?”

“No, I’m…I’m fine. Really,” he added, catching Ron’s skeptical look.

“All right then, if you say so.” Ron looked around furtively. It was too quiet. He didn’t like it. In fact, every instinct in him was screaming in protest. “C’mon, let’s get out of here before they figure out you’re-“

“Harry!” Most of the Weasley clan came pelting into the kitchen. It certainly wasn’t very quiet now. Stout, kind Mrs. Weasley got there first, and wrapped Harry in a tight hug. At first he looked awkward and embarrassed, but as Ron watched he gave in to the warm, comfortable feelings trying to take over. No one else really hugged him, not like this. It must be nice for him. And then the twins turned up, loud and rambunctious, and shy little-- or not so little-- Ginny, and tall, thin, eager Mr. Weasley. Harry let out a deep breath. This was his home, really, more so than Privet Drive, more so even than Hogwarts. This was home, and these were his family. 

But Ron did not share Harry’s feelings of relief. While his family greeted Harry he’d stood back examining his friend. He did not like what he saw. Harry had grown thinner, and since he was already ridiculously skinny this was a bad thing. Ron wondered how long it had been since he’d eaten more than a few bites at a time. Knowing his friend and the family he was forced to live with, Ron doubted it had been any time in the near past. Harry looked tired, almost old, and his eyes seemed duller than they had been at Hogwarts. There were dark smudges underneath them that spoke of sleepless nights. Ron didn’t need Harry to tell him in so many words that he was having a very bad summer; all it took was looking at his dull, glazed eyes. 

Supper that evening was a strange affair. Mrs. Weasley fussed over Harry unashamedly, but she always had, so it was relatively normal. Mr. Weasley seemed torn between his famous love of all things Muggle and the knowledge that Harry was obviously overjoyed to be back in the magical world and probably wouldn’t welcome questions. Ginny was, if possible, even more self-conscious than usual. To make up for the rest of the family’s unnatural quietness Fred and George joked their way through the meal with a ferocity that just bordered on hysteria. And sitting beside his best friend, Ron didn’t know what to do. What could he say to Harry that wouldn’t be either hollow or inane? How do you speak to a fifteen-year-old boy whose life was falling apart? It was like being back at Hogwarts, those awful days after the Third Task when he hadn’t known how to fill the silences that pooled about Harry like the freezing water. Like the Hogwarts lake in February. But if Harry would swim through _that_ for _him,_ then he’d figure out a way to help. He would. 

*

An unfamiliar noise woke Ron up sometime in the middle hours of the night. At least, he assumed it must have been unfamiliar. The common noises of the Weasley household at night—the muffled midnight explosions coming form the twins’ room, Percy’s footfalls as he paced the night away, thinking out another hopelessly boring paper for the Ministry, Ginny’s slurred sleep-talking, the clanks and howls issuing form the ghoul’s attic—no longer disturbed him. Ron could sleep through almost anything, as long as it was a usual part of his life. Drowsily he sat up, half-heartedly rubbing at his eyes. The noise came again, jolting him into complete wakefulness. A low moan was coming from the pallet that he’d dragged up from the twins’ room for Harry to sleep on. 

Ron reached over and tickled his old ratty plush glowworm, lighting it up. Show Fred for teasing his about it…why get rid of something so useful when it was nothing like a spider? The soft green radiance spilled over the orange walls creating a truly bizarre mixture of unimaginable colors. Revealed by the strange, eldritch light, Harry lay tossing and turning amidst a tangled pile of old quilts in various stages of decomposition. His face was flushed, screwed up in a knot snarl of pain. Trails of wetness marked the passage of previous tears down his face. Fisting his hands, he muttered indistinguishable words of protest. In slow motion another glistering tear fell from beneath his closed eyelids and made its way down through the hills and valleys of his face. 

“Harry?” Ron knelt beside Harry’s makeshift bed, shaking his shoulder. Harry cried out and struggled against the pressure, but Ron shook him harder, saying his name over and over. “Harry! C’mon, mate, snap out of it. Harry. Harry!” 

At last Harry grabbed Ron’s paisley pyjamas, gasping as if he'd just run a marathon, and buried his face in Ron’s shoulder. Surprised at his friend’s show of weakness Ron froze. He didn’t know what to do with his hands. They hung limply at his side, completely useless and totally in the way. But as Harry pressed his trembling body closer to Ron’s, allowing a small, torn sound to escape into his friend’s torso, Ron awkwardly, tenderly, brought his arms up to encircle the smaller boy. The earth didn’t end, and he tightened his hold. This was seemingly more than Harry could bear. One choked, gasping, desperate sob broke from him and the floodgates were opened. Safe in his first friend’s arms Harry Potter wept as though his heart would break. 

Holding him tightly, Ron wondered if perhaps it already had. How could he fix this? Tea wouldn’t go nearly far enough. All he could do was hold Harry close, rubbing his back gently and whispering comforting nothings into his hair. He didn’t believe that it could possibly be enough to heal this. He’d never seen Harry cry before. Faced by the worst things in the world Harry had stood strong. The thought of the horrors it would take to reduce him to this sent liquid ice rushing through Ron’s veins.

Now Harry’s sobs were quieting, breaking against Ron with less frequency. Putting his hands on the other boy’s shoulders Ron pushed him back, angling for a glimpse of his face. “Harry?” he asked. “Are…are you all right?” Harry nodded, not meeting his eyes. 

“You’re not,” Ron said, reading his friend’s responses with a skill born of long years together. Confirming it, Harry hung his head even lower, going limp in Ron’s arms. Ron held him up firmly, thoroughly frightened by Harry’s lack of motivation. “Harry, come on. Talk to me, “ he begged. “Please let me help.” 

That did it. “Ron?” Harry whispered tentatively. 

“Yeah, mate? What is it?”

“Oh, Ron, it was awful. Cedric was…and he said…and then my dad was there and he said the same thing…all my fault…and the Dementors Kissed Sirius and he was only there because he was trying to protect me, and Voldemort said…I was him, and it…”

“Okay, okay, calm down, mate. It was just a dream, Harry, just a dream. It can’t hurt you anymore, you’re safe.”

“The last part wasn’t, though. I know because…because my scar hurt—it still does, but not so bad—and he, Voldemort I mean, he said that I would never be safe…he promised that he’d come for me. He said that I was his other half, that I would fail my pr-promise just like he did, betray…my f-f-friends and b-become him-“

“You mean it was one of those dreams?”

“Yeah, some parts of it.”

“Blimey.” Ron looked down at Harry, lying huddled up half in his lap, his face defenseless and very young without the shielding glasses. He felt extremely awkward; he was completely in charge. Harry had checked out. The boy looked completely knackered. Ron asked him, “Was there anything in the, you know, the dream that Dumbledore should hear?”

“No, not…really. He didn’t give himself away, just wanted to s-scare me.”

“Okay, then, we’re not going to worry about it. You hear me? We’re not going to worry about it. It’s not like we didn’t know he’d be coming after you.”

“No. But…my dad…”

“Harry, you stupid prat, you know he wouldn’t say something like that.”

“No, I don’t!” Harry’s voice grew in volume, strident and hysterical. “I have no bloody idea! How would I know? I’ve never even met him, and-”

“There’s no way you’re to blame for any of this, and you dad would know it as well as I do. I know you’ve been beating yourself up over Cedric, Harry. You shouldn’t be. You brought him back to his parents, and I’m sure it wasn’t half as easy as it sounds. You did everything you could short of dying.”

“Maybe I should’ve. I deserve it more than he did…it should’ve been me.” Harry’s voice was flat, as if he was trying to tame his tears with stoicism. 

“Harry Potter! Never, and I mean never, say that again. Oh, Harry, don’t you dare!” His voice cracked and broke. Harry looked up, shocked out of his iron control by the desperate deluge of words. Ron blushed so heavily that Harry could see it through the darkness, and said, “’M sorry. Got a bit carried away. Y’know, that’s the other part of your getting into sticky spots all the time—I spend an awful while waiting about to see if you’ll squeak by again. I couldn’t…if you didn’t, I…if one of these time is was you, Harry…” he trailed off, too boyishly tough to say what he meant. The heavy sentiments suffocated his voice. But when he looked up out of his morass of adolescent shame he saw that he didn’t need to. Harry knew well enough. “You need to sleep,” Ron mumbled, and Harry stiffened in his arms. “Harry? What is it?”

“I…I don’t want the dreams to come b-back.” His voice seemed tiny in the darkness. 

There was a long pause. 

“You could stay here, if y’like.” It hadn’t been as difficult to say as Ron’d thought. 

“Really?” He sounded so…hopeful. So child-like. It was weird. 

“Yeah. It’s what I always did when I had nightmares. One of the benefits of having so many brothers, eh? It’ll help, Harry, trust me.”

“I really shouldn’t…trust you, I mean. Not after all my experience.” Ron was relieved to hear the teasing note in Harry’s voice. Perhaps things would be back to normal. As normal as they ever were, that is. “Shut it, Potter. Go to sleep.”

Awkwardly, in total silence, Harry settled down. Ron could tell that he was as stiff as a board. It was like he was refusing to breathe out of fear. Ron casually rolled over, and his action seemed to be the catalyst Harry needed to move. Quicker than blinking he had scooted over to the far edge of the bed, the majority of his body hanging in the chilly air and his back presented to his friend. Ron breathed a tiny sigh. What now? Why did Harry have to make this harder than it was all ready? If he didn’t have another nightmare he’d fall off the bed. Being Harry he’d either break his arm or catch pneumonia. 

A shiver ran through Harry’s back. Was he cold, or scared or…what else could it be? Ron was disturbed by how many potential answers to that question popped into his head. Bollocks. “Harry? Are you…oh, bugger. C’mere.” Putting his hands on Harry’s shoulders he forced him to roll back over. Harry wasn’t crying, but his eyes looked as if a hundred years of solitude were trapped in them. He was obviously uncomfortable, and Ron wondered uneasily if anyone had ever offered to hold him through the night before. Considering Harry’s background, he decided it wasn’t likely. He couldn’t imagine those Dursleys holding Harry after nightmares, not even when he was a tiny kid. He’d probably been locked up all alone in that cupboard. Ron sighed again. This holiday had produced a bumper crop of sighs, and it was barely half over. It must be some sort of record. 

Reaching out an arm, he pulled Harry close to him, curling protectively around the smaller boy. At first Harry was tense, as if he might just pull away and bolt, but at last he relaxed. He must be completely knackered, Ron marveled. Harry had never been very good at being hugged. Lulled by the sound of his friend’s peaceful breathing, Ron fell asleep.

*  
The sun was blazing directly in Harry’s eyes. Irritated, he squinched them tighter, but still the light was there. At last, giving in to the inevitable, he opened them and admitted that he was awake. He went to sit up, but was prevented by the arm wound around his torso. With a feeling of dread in his stomach he looked over. Ron was fast asleep, his mouth slightly open and his arm wrapped tightly around Harry, who moaned. How big of a fool had he made of himself last night? He could scarcely remember it. Another dream…? Surely it couldn’t get much worse.

Ron stirred and mumbled, and Harry changed his mind. It was worse. Groggily, Ron pulled his arm out from under Harry and rubbed his eyes. When he saw Harry, he gave him a bright smile. “G’morning,” he said far too enthusiastically. Harry groaned again and rolled over. “Harry?” Ron’s voice sounded anxious. Harry didn’t move. But then Ron was forcing him over, piercing blue eyes stabbing through him. “Harry, what?” Now he sounded exasperated, and it put Harry’s hackles up.

“Nothing.”

“No, it’s not nothing. Tell me.”

“’M sorry.”

“What?

“I’m sorry.”

“What?”

“Didn’t you hear me?” the tension in Harry boiled over, and he winced at how shrilly his words came out. 

“No, it’s just…whatever are you sorry for?”

“Las’ night.”

“Stop mumbling, I can’t understand a word.”

“Look, I’m sorry for being a prat last night and making you take care of me and I promise it won’t happen again.” He said it all in one breath, so quickly that he wondered if Ron had understood a word or if he’d have to say it all over again. He didn’t know if he could. But then Ron was answering, the relief in his voice almost tangible. 

“Oh, is that all? Hell, mate, don’t scare me like that. It’s fine.”

“But, I—“

“Harry, you’re human. People need to be taken care of sometimes, and I’m glad to help. It’s fine.”

“Erm, Ron, what…”

“Shut up and come here.” And then Ron was hugging him. It was really quite nice. He could get used to it pretty easily. He hugged him back. 

Just as Harry was comfortably close to sleep, Ron broke away and sat up. Blearily, Harry said, “Wha?”

“I’m starved,” Ron replied. “And I can smell Mum’s sausages. Ruddy layabout, you are.” Feigning offense at the mandatory insult, Harry clouted him over the head with a pillow and then scampered down the stairs after him, laughing uproariously. The sounds echoed down the stairwell, and the boys followed right after them. 

In the kitchen Mrs. Weasley heard the laughter, and smiled.


End file.
